THEODORE'S DISOBEDIENCE, AND THE RESULT.
FOR some days after Theodore's exhibition of disobedience and
passion, he was very subdued and quiet, treating Jane with great
consideration, and spending most of his spare time in Jack's company.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Barton referred to Tom Blake, and Theodore felt
he was quite forgiven for his naughtiness. But the boy could not
overcome the slight reserve that his stepmother seemed to have
wrapped around her.
Hitherto he had been content to keep out of her way as much
as possible; now he often sought her presence, with the idea
of wiping out from her mind the bitter words he had hurled at her
in his ungovernable rage. But he found he could not. When he and Jack
sat listening to a story from her lips,—for she often drew on her
imagination for their amusement,—he would catch her eye, and know
that she remembered.
As time went on, he grew to daily respect her more and more. He saw
how she brightened the once dull house; he noticed how his father
was happy when she was near; and he began to understand the tender
affection with which Jack regarded her. He had not troubled as to
what she had thought of him; he had not cared whether she loved him
or not; but now slowly there was creeping into his heart a desire
to obliterate any bad impression he might have made upon her.
Mrs. Barton's quiet influence for good was, felt at The Nest too.
Miss Selina had no faults to find with the management of the new
mistress at the Hall; Miss Penelope soon ceased to begrudge her the
personal charms she had at first refused to admit, and even went
so far as to acknowledge her "nice-looking."
Much to Theodore's astonishment, he found Jane upholding
Mrs. Barton's authority, and quoting her opinions on different
matters; the truth being that Jane was beginning to find her young
master rather beyond her powers of control, and was really glad
to have someone to whom she could go for assistance, or advice.
Theodore managed to keep out of Tom Blake's way for many weeks,
but one morning during the August holidays he met him close to the
entrance to the Hall grounds. Theodore nodded, not meaning to stop,
but Tom paused, and then, of course, Theodore had to do the same.
"Good morning, Master Theodore!"
"Good morning, Tom!"
"You didn't keep your promise about the fishing," was Tom's next
remark, with a sly wink.
"No. I was very sorry. I would have let you know if I could. I didn't
mean to break my promise!"
Tom looked curiously at Theodore's distressed countenance.
"I suppose they stopped you," he said, with a grin. "I guess
Mrs. Barton thought you too much of a baby to go out without a nurse,
eh?"
"I don't think I care for fishing much," Theodore remarked, with a
would-be careless air, and ignoring the sneer conveyed in the other's
remark.
Tom laughed in a manner which had an irritating effect upon his
listener, and seemed to be vastly amused.
"You don't like fishing much? Oh, indeed! I s'pose you like being
made a molly-coddle of like your stepbrother, eh?"
"Jack is not a molly-coddle!" Theodore flashed out indignantly,
now thoroughly angry.
"He's well enough, I daresay. Now, look 'ere, see what I've got!"
Tom drew from his pocket a packet of cigarettes, and carefully
selecting one, proceeded to light it, whilst the younger boy watched
him with somewhat reluctant admiration.
"'Ave one?" Tom asked insinuatingly. "Bought 'em with my own money."
"No, no, thank you."
"Afraid you'll be sick, eh?"
"No. That's not the reason."
"Afraid your stepmother 'll whack you if she finds it out?"
"No, indeed!" Theodore responded, with a laugh at the idea.
"Well, then," the elder boy said persuasively, "try one, it can't
'arm you. Let's go and sit down in the shade somewhere."
Theodore rather reluctantly followed Tom into the lower meadow, where
now stood a large hay-rick, in the shadow of which the boys seated
themselves. Now, no one had ever told Theodore not to smoke; but all
the same he had an idea that neither his father nor his stepmother
would like him to do so. Yet when he watched Tom puffing away, and
apparently thoroughly enjoying his cigarette, he told himself there
really could be no possible harm in his trying one, just to see what
it was like. So he allowed himself to be persuaded; and, after much
coughing, because the smoke would go down his throat, and up the back
of his nose, he succeeded in getting through one cigarette.
Then Tom suddenly remembered that his father would be wanting him,
and made his way home, chuckling to himself as he went, whilst
Theodore slowly rose to his feet, and turned towards the Hall.
But how queer he felt,—so sick, and everything seemed to be spinning
round. He never quite remembered how he crawled home, but when
at length he staggered into the nursery, Jane uttered an exclamation
of dismay, and Jack gave a shrill scream of fright at the sight
of his ghastly face.
"Oh, Master Theodore, my darling; what is it?" Jane cried, as she
rang the bell violently, and caught the boy as he staggered, and
would have fallen.
"I am very ill, Jane," he moaned; "very ill!"
In a few minutes nearly everyone in the house had rushed to the
nursery, the servants with frightened faces, Mrs. Barton pale and
trembling, and her husband no less alarmed. Jane held the boy in her
arms, calling him by every endearing name she could think of, until
Mr. Barton took him from her, and laid him on a sofa.
Theodore looked, as he said, very ill; but as his father leaned over
him a sudden suspicion made him ask:
"What have you been doing, Theodore?"
"Doing?" Theodore repeated faintly, looking round on the assembled
faces. "Doing? Nothing—only—smoking."
There was a moment's dead silence. Then Theodore saw the sympathy
on the servants' faces give way to ill-suppressed amusement; and his
father remarked, in decidedly relieved accents:
"So you've been smoking, have you? And you feel very ill? I can quite
believe it. Don't be frightened, you are not so bad as you fancy, and
you'll be better soon. Cheer up, Jack! There's nothing to be alarmed
about. I think, Theodore, bed is the best place for you."
So saying, Mr. Barton turned away, and went downstairs.
The faithful Jane, much relieved as to the cause of her darling's
illness, and, assisted by Mrs. Barton, soon had Theodore tucked up
in bed, where he lay very sick, and suffering badly in his head
for some hours.
At last he fell asleep, so that he never heard the stir and commotion
that was going on in the house, for his sleep was deep and heavy; and
when he awoke he thought it must be tea-time, he was so very hungry.
Then he remembered all that had taken place, the look of mingled
relief and anger on his father's face when he had confessed he had
been smoking, his stepmother's evident amazement, and the amused
countenances of the servants. His cheeks burned with shame; and he
determined to get up at once, and tell his father all about it.
Very slowly, for he felt weak and rather lightheaded, he arose and
dressed, and made his way to the nursery. Jack was there alone,
so intently and eagerly looking out of the window, that he never
noticed his stepbrother till he reached his side.
"Well, Jack," Theodore remarked, rather shamefacedly.
"Oh, Theo, darling, are you better?"
But Theodore did not answer. He stood gazing out of the window
with wide-open, horror-stricken eyes; for there, in the lower meadow,
was a volume of smoke ascending from the new hay-rick.
"It is on fire," Jack explained. "Isn't it a pity? Nearly every one
is there, trying to put the fire out."
"Oh, dear! how did it happen?"
"I don't know. But are you feeling better, Theodore?"
"Oh, yes, yes! I'm all right. Where's Jane?"
"She's downstairs, getting tea ready; all the servants are gone
to the lower meadow. Father is there, and I think mother is—"
"Mother is here;" and turning, the boys saw Mrs. Barton standing
behind them.
"You must be ready for your tea, Theodore, for you had no dinner,"
she said. "Are you better?"
"Yes, thank you; but my head aches."
"Ah, yes. I hope you will not be tempted to smoke again; it certainly
made you very bad," she said, with a smile that caused Theodore
to blush. Then she added more seriously, "You must have known it was
wrong to smoke, and whoever gave you tobacco was much to blame."
"It was a cigarette," murmured Theodore; "but I will never touch
another!"
Mrs. Barton thought it wisest to let the subject drop for the time,
meaning to talk seriously to her little stepson when Jack was not
present. The boys watched the burning hay-rick for some minutes
in silence, but at last Theodore exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, I must go
and see the fire-engine at work!"
"No, my dear, you cannot," Mrs. Barton answered. "Your father said
that on no account were you to leave the house."
"I suppose he is very angry," Theodore sighed.
"Never mind," whispered Jack. "At least—I mean you won't smoke again,
will you?"
"Never!" was the fervent response, in accents of conviction. "I do
wonder, Jack, how the rick caught on fire; it was all right this—"
Theodore paused abruptly, ashamed to acknowledge he had rested in the
shade of the hay-rick to smoke that unlucky cigarette.
Meanwhile, the fire-engine from the neighbouring town was playing
on the flames; but though there was plenty of water, the efforts
of the willing helpers were of little avail, for there was a stiff
breeze blowing, which fanned the fire, so that when night fell there
was very little hay that was not thoroughly spoiled.
"'Tis a bad job," said old John Bawdon, as he walked back to the Hall
by his master's side.
"It is indeed, John, especially as the rick was not insured. I cannot
imagine how it caught fire."
The old man looked troubled, and presently burst out:
"You know, sir, I love him dearly! I wouldn't willingly get him into
trouble; but I think I ought to speak."
"What do you mean? What do you know?"
"Blake, the blacksmith, has been thrashing his son for smoking by the
side of the rick. It seems he was passing along the road, and looking
in over the hedge, saw him this very morning."
"The young rascal! You may depend he threw a lighted match
unwittingly into some loose hay."
"Yes, sir," uneasily. "But he wasn't alone; Master Theodore was with
him."
"Theodore!"
Very black indeed was the frown on Mr. Barton's brow; and seeing it,
the old man, with whom Theodore was a prime favourite, was much
distressed and agitated.
"Oh, be gentle with him!" he pleaded. "He is very young! I am sure
he meant no harm."
"I had told him not to have anything to do with Tom Blake, and yet
it seems he wilfully disobeyed me."
"Oh, sir, have patience with him! he's not used to control. Jane,
she means well, but she has allowed him to have his own way so long."
"Too long."
Even as he spoke, the father's conscience told him he should have
taught his son the lesson of obedience earlier himself.
"I am very glad you have told me this, John," he said. "Have no fear
that I will be harsh with the boy. He is wilful and headstrong;
I suppose I was the same at his age."
"That you were, sir!"
Mr. Barton laughed, and the old man hastily apologised.
"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure; but, you know, I remember when you
were just such a little chap as Master Theodore; and sometimes I'm
most afraid I forget my manners. But I've the family's welfare
at heart, and—"
"You're a faithful soul, John," his master interposed feelingly;
"I know that." And having arrived at the Hall, they parted company.
Mr. Barton went straight upstairs to the nursery, where he found
his wife and the two boys. It was almost dark, and his footsteps made
no sound on the thick carpet, so that for a few minutes he stood
in the background, unseen and unheard.
Mrs. Barton sat on a low chair by Jack's sofa. The little invalid's
golden head rested on his mother's shoulder; whilst on a stool at her
feet sat Theodore, looking up at her with interested eyes.
"And David killed the giant," Mrs. Barton was saying in her dear,
sweet voice, "killed him with a sling and a stone."
"A sort of catapult, I suppose?" Theodore queried. "What a first-rate
shot David must have been!"
"Yes. You see it is not always the strongest that wins. David was
only a lad; but he trusted in God, and God was with him—"
She broke off suddenly as her husband came forward. Theodore turned
crimson, and regarded his father with startled eyes.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Mary," Mr. Barton said gently, "but I
want a few words with Theodore before he goes to bed. Theodore, come
downstairs into the library with me."